What was all the fuss about today? Why were so many villagers on the road and walking among the village huts and houses? There was a small congregation of people outside a hut, a hundred or so feet from the road, slightly under the canopy of the jungle. I joined the excited small throng, moving forward until I could see into the hut. An Indian boy standing nearby encouraged me to move forward so I could clearly see what was happening inside. That boy in his mid-teens, well dressed, clean cut, soft spoken, and clearly educated, was to become the interpreter of the day’s events.

Why, for instance, was that man lying face down on the bare concrete floor while another was bent over him deftly piercing his bared back with metal hooks attached to ropes, as if his carcass was about to be hung up to dry? And why was there no blood on the floor? Could you please explain that to me, my Indian friend?

Most things in life, as perceived by our senses, can be perfectly explained to the satisfaction of understanding in terms of cause and effect, provided all the facts are known. This case was no different, although it transpired in Paradise. The Indian man on the floor and others, suitably prepared that day, were votaries performing ritual acts of supplication or thanksgiving to their Hindu deities. A coconut picker required protection in his hazardous work, and another, having been cured of disease, was offering thanks. Prepared mentally by fasting and meditation, hooks were then attached to backs and metal spikes pierced through cheeks and tongues, and holy ash smeared over bodies to prevent bleeding. Some votaries were carrying weighty, brightly painted structures over their heads, decorated with flowers and supported solely by metal spikes that pierced their shoulders and chests. And so everybody went in procession along the road out of town to the Hindu temple, there to make their offerings to their worshipable deities.

My Indian friend told me that his mother had made a vow to her deity when he was an ailing child, promising that he would perform such a ritual ordeal if he survived the sickness. Generous of her, no doubt, but as far as I could tell, my Indian friend accepted the obligation made on his behalf and had no intention of shirking his responsibility in the matter. It was just a matter of time before he would be pierced and skewered, with a view to pleasing whatever God was involved.

We did not follow the procession but sat together on the bench in front of India Bobs. It was sitting there that my Indian friend explained the details of his fate. I had no thoughts on the matter, nor did I experience any particular emotion. The festival set no precedent for anything I might consider doing.

Just another day in Paradise.